A Peek Into the Twisted Mind of a Fetishist – A Personal Story (Part 4)

Part 4 – Carmella, Donna, and My Erector Set

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I must stop for a moment to make a few very important points in my defense.

Please don’t misjudge me. I realize that much of the personal fantasy I’ve been describing—and will continue to describe in future installments—may come across to some as having underpinnings of abuse or disregard toward these women in my early life, or that I may harbor a low opinion toward women in general. Some may feel, and rightly so, that the outcomes to these fantasies resemble the typical endings one would expect to see in porn media. Of course, I’m referring to the obligatory “facial cumshot.” Where I won’t argue in opposition to the resemblance, I would challenge any notion which assumes that I believe in male superiority, or that I hold disdain for women by nature. Nothing could be further from the truth.

I have several firm convictions in my life. One states that the greatest accomplishments in life are derived from giving pleasure and love, as well as receiving both. Another conviction punctuates my worldview. Nothing could sway my belief in the fact that we all occupy space in this world on equal terms, regardless of race, nationality, social background, economic position, belief system, skin color, age, sex, or sexual orientation. Of course, as is often the case in human history, we’re having the usual bit of difficulty convincing some in this world to accept the irrefutable logic of that last statement, recognize the validity of the premise, and to get on the right side of history by fully embracing its standard. With the recent political climate showing a rising trend toward fascism, along with an uptick in various forms of bigotry, I’m sorry to report that we have yet to reach an acceptance of the equality of which I spoke. But, for however slow the going may be, I think we are getting there.

I also feel strongly about, and solidly support women’s rights. As a man, I’m proud to call myself a feminist!

I love, thoroughly respect, and I would go so far as to say, I worship all women.

Subsequently, and getting back to the subject of porn; I abhor the bone-headed, openly-sadistic and abusive movement (abusive toward women) which I’m seeing take place in modern on-line pornography. This ugly trend of violent, mean-spirited behavior directed at women is alarming on so many levels.

Now, to be clear, I’m not referring to all porn. I’m only speaking to that narrow band which celebrates extreme cruelty, outmoded male dominance, and human degradation. My reference is to that type of porn which paints the words “slut” and “whore” across women’s features, as if they’re trying to hearken back to medieval stigmata. The kind of porn which slaps women and spits in their faces and tries to justify it all by the use of the term “role-play.”

With all of its brutality and blatant misogyny, I shutter to think what harm it might be doing to the collective human psyche in the long run. My figurative fingers are crossed for the advent of a couple possible movements to culminate in response to this situation which might rectify matters. However naive it may sound, I’m holding out hope that either the videographers responsible for producing such mean-spirited material might suddenly experience an apostasy and see the ugliness of what they’re doing for what it is—thereby inspiring a change—or enough voices are raised in protest and disgust to force a change. By no means am I promoting a ban on porn. I’m merely advocating for a change of heart, a change in direction.

“Perhaps then we can get back to descent and fun, wholesome pornography,” he said while grinning, and with tongue firmly entrenched in cheek.

Now, although the focus of the writing here deals with the erotic side of my personality, while emphasizing the admittedly unconventional—some may rightly say, “male-centric, disgustingly-offensive, abusive and humiliating”—musings I had concerning my female relatives and their friends, I cannot stress my overall-loving feelings toward them enough. And even after all these years, my deep love and high regard for each and every one of them transcends time.

But, for however sexually desirable they may have been to me, they were by no means just cardboard cut-outs, nor did they represent so many imaginary inflatable sex dolls to be used, abused and humiliated for my own demented pleasure in the fantasies I spun. These attractive women were loving, well-rounded, multifaceted human beings deserving of respect.

To that point, I realize that I have been doing them an injustice by not describing them in more detail; ”fleshing them out,” as it were, for the sake of literary clarity. So, to an extent, I feel the need to make amends by telling you a little bit about a couple of them. Hopefully I can do so without wandering too far from the main thrust of my ramblings, which after all deals with self-psychoanalysis, and the desire to explain the particulars of my slant on this long-standing capnolagnia obsession of mine.

So firstly, to begin this short descriptive narrative, I should mention the role comedy played within my family’s makeup. Its importance can’t be diminished because most of the art’s elements—”timing,” “pregnant pauses,” “quick-comeback,” “farce,” etc.—were integral guidelines, dictating how we processed life’s big and little moments.

Yes…comedy ran in our family. “Ran? It practically galloped!” (I stole that last phrase from the film “Arsenic and Old Lace.”)

A strong comedic sense—one which contained a healthy balance of self-deprecation, as well as outward criticism—along with a honed, capable wit were up-front and instilled traits within the character of many in my tribe. An ability to recognize irony and satire, while also deftly utilizing the two, was commonplace in our daily dealings with each other and with the world around us, as well. This was just something that came naturally for many of us, something at which we excelled. We weaved comedy into conversational language at every chance, always keeping it light, forever challenging over-seriousness and reactionary tone with well-placed repartee. At times it seemed as if we were intentionally breeding stand-ups!

Consequently, the thing I remember most of my upbringing—aside from the spices and the good food, along with the sexual fantasy fuel I’ve been describing—is the satisfying, pervasive sounds of laughter…sweet laughter!

For instance, the cackle from my Aunt Carmella, as she quipped with my mother and cousin Doris, is a sound which still exists as a fragment of ghost audio in my mind’s ear. And the predictable yet infectious guffaw she’d inspire from Doris would work its way around the dining room table; some chuckling partly in response to Carmella’s quip, but most laughing in amusement over Doris’s reaction.

However cliché it might sound, it needs to be stated that Carmella was truly a “rare beauty.” She encapsulated so many admirable qualities. Young and vivacious, schooled and endlessly clever, she had an enviable, formidable command of words; and in two languages, no less—English and Italian. If a situation called for it, she could start her joking in English and seamlessly slide into Italian without so much as a stammer. Carmella used this tactic “in mixed company” to further mask the naughtiness of the last bit; and she’d verbalize the Italian phrasing in a sexy whisper.

Yes, Carmella certainly had a wit that could stop a truck. And, I might add, she possessed stunning facial features and a body which could cause the male operator of that same truck to drive his vehicle up the sidewalk while taking in Carmella’s overwhelming presence.

Standing at 5 feet 7 inches and weighing 110 pounds, her lithe frame seemed to waft gracefully and with purpose across any surface, like a ship gliding steadfast over glassy seas. Carmella’s slender body confidently stood erect, accentuating the thrust of full, rounded breasts which sat high on her frame, shadowing a delicately-tapered waistline. Long auburn tresses, cascading from the slightly off-centered part at the top of her head, would sway from side to side whenever she moved. And while moving forward, those long supple locks were swept back and off her shoulders, revealing softly-formed ears—her lobes usually adorned with thick-hoop earrings—and a swan-like neck.

As for her smoking style; to me it was the stuff dreams were made of!

When she smoked a cigarette, her face appeared to take on subtle nuances of ecstasy. During prolonged drags, her dark teal-shadowed eye lids would flutter while glossy generous lips molded around the filter in an enticing grip. Then came those pop-inhales, which looked and sounded more like kisses. While taking in those puffs of smoke, her expression seemed to convey thorough satisfaction, as if a long-felt thirst were suddenly being quenched. Watching her mouth pop open and seeing her breasts heave forward with that sharp intake of air—resulting in the perfectly-formed dense ball of white smoke produced from her drag quickly disappearing behind parted, lush red lips—never failed to put an extra painful throb to my already stiff erection.

Oh, and then came the pièces de résistance—the sight for which I’d wait in breathless and anxious anticipation—Carmella’s exhale! Putting aside the sexually-arousing vision of her perfect, full, red lips gently forming a luscious-looking kiss shape; there was also the overall subtle transformation in expression I’d see flowing across her face.

Of course, all of this may have been projection on my part, but Carmella’s exhales appeared to have the qualities of a mild and mellowing release. It was almost as if she were experiencing a satisfying contentment overtaking her soul. With head slightly tilted up and her dark eyes half shut—an expression which by itself was enough to make me cum in my pants—I’d watch the smoke issuing straight out from between her beautifully-pursed lips. The tight column of smoke would form an ever-expanding cone as it moved out into the room to fill the space in front of her.

I cannot convey clearly enough how dramatic this sight was for me! Jesus! Every fiber of my own being screamed for release! If she only knew that each time she did this, it took an abundance of inner strength to squelch the urge to stand up and just grab my stiff, concealed cock. And then, while shamelessly beating off right through my pants, inserting myself into the path of that exhale; breathing in the sweet smoke streaming from those desirable lips as the rushing cloud struck my face.

Needless to say, I never acted upon this indecent urge. It would be unthinkable! Mostly, I’d just sit there dumbfounded; fidgeting in the afterglow of Carmella’s performance, while awaiting her next drag. And, I wouldn’t have long to wait. Ritualistically, she repeated this process in almost the same manner for every puff. This only served to reinforce the already vivid and numerous image files I had stored in my brain of dearest, sweet Carmella; a filing cabinet I’d access quite frequently in her absence.

I realize that I was the only one in the room picking up on these perceived subtleties; considering how my mind was racing with numerous fantasies about Carmella at the time. Nevertheless, onward my aberrant, fantasy-driven little mind raced. And without anyone else in the room knowing, erotic imagery of her surprised face, spackled and dripping while being pelted with my ejaculating sperm, flashed and flickered on the screen in my mind’s theater, each time those lips puckered and blew.

~~~~~

Ah! And then there was my bewitching Aunt Donna.

Oh Donna!

If she only knew that she processed the face which launched countless wet, overpowering orgasms!

Donna!

Just thinking her name causes spontaneous blood flow to my cock!

The ‘movie’ and screenplay I produced involving her as the main character went through some revisions. But, for the most part, the key dick-stiffening components in the script and scene lay-out were kept intact throughout all of my masturbatory movie adventures. To this very day, the photographic impressions and plot details of various scenarios remain vivid, mostly due to the frequency at which the sounds and images played across the screen in my brain.

Oh man, did I ever run those “Donna movies” a lot!

Almost all of my parents’ female siblings, my cousins and their female friends, were beautiful in many ways and also held varying degrees of desirability in my mind—some, of course, more than others. However, none could compare to the striking loveliness, the air of sultry sexuality, exuded by my mother’s youngest sister!

But before I get into Donna’s influence on the early development and direction of this fetish, I should continue to expand on my mind’s secret pornographic movie business.